


The Evitable

by kiddywonkus



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-08 23:10:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1138555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiddywonkus/pseuds/kiddywonkus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The fight was inevitable. Anyone with half a brain and a general stereotyped view of Cardassia could see it coming."</p><p>Fifteen years after the Dominion War, Deep Space Nine still stands on the brink of civil war and rebellion. No stranger to entangled politics, the newly appointed Liason for Cardassian Interests in the Federation, Elim Garak, has the unenviable task of saving one small corner of the Alpha Quadrant from anarchy, and his home from ruins... with a little help from an old friend, Doctor Julian Bashir.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The fight was inevitable. Anyone with half a brain and a general stereotyped view of Cardassia could see it coming.

Who the fight was between didn’t matter. A nameless Cardassian soldier who was once a glinn now made an ensign in the Federation beat a young human science officer who outranked him. It was bound to happen, and frankly, Julian was surprised it didn’t happen sooner.

Julian treated the victim as best he could, trying to remember a time when he himself was only thirty and mouthing off because he thought he was entitled to it. It was a long time ago, for sure. He was relatively certain, however, that had the other person been a particularly burly Cardassian, he would have held his tongue no matter how many more pips he had on his collar. It didn’t take genetic enhancements to use basic common sense. This was something he made sure the young Lieutenant understood. Instead, the young officer retorted, “So? He is apart of the Federation now, so he has to play by our rules.”

It was difficult integrating the Cardassians into the Federation, especially so soon after Bajor’s admission. Surely, the recently healed science officer said, fifteen years would have been enough time. But Julian was older now, less naïve, and definitely old enough to know that fifteen years was not enough time to integrate two such diametrically opposed societies with a relationship mired in a particularly sordid history. He wondered at which point he had traded his idealism for a healthy dose of cynicism, but dismissed the thought. He knew everything would work out eventually, even if it would  beafter he died. He was not being pessimistic or idealistic. Realistically, it would happen. Optimistically, it would happen sooner.

And if he dwelled on it enough, he knew exactly where he had learned this sort of thinking from.

“Excuse me, Doctor.” It was a familiar sort of voice that drew Julian from his thoughts. “But I was wondering if I could take some of your time.”

Julian turned, unable to stop a grin from stretching across his face. “Mr. Garak, I’ve been expecting you.”

“It’s Liason Garak. Plain, simple Liason Garak,” the Cardassian smiled politely, but it did not last long.

“It’s been a long time.”

“Too long,” Garak agreed.

“What brings you here to DS Nine?”

“The fight.” Garak didn’t elaborate, but Julian knew what he was talking about.

“Well, Lieutenant Harper is alive,” Julian said, leaning back in his chair, “with several new false teeth. Unfortunately, he’s determined to press some sort of charges.”

“Indeed.” Garak eyed the chair across from Julian’s desk, and waited for Julian to nod before seating himself.

“It’s a mess.”

“As I predicted.” Garak nodded knowingly.

“I wouldn’t say you predicted it.”

“I did.” Garak’s smile was tight-lipped, but present.

Julian rolled his eyes upwards, mentally rechecking the contents of the letters they had exchanged over the years. While it was true that neither he nor Garak had seen each other in probably upwards of half a decade, they kept in constant contact, their weekly lunches supplanted by weekly letters.

 When Garak had become the Liason for Cardassian Interests in the Federation, or whatever impossibly long title he held, the former tailor’s thoughts on the matter were less than gracious, something which he felt was necessary to write out to near novel-length proportions. When Julian wrote back to say that it was really quite honor to have been chosen for a position with such an long-winded title, Garak only said “It’s an easy way to get rid of me, _and_ the Federation, when the inevitable happens.” Julian wasn’t quite sure what he was talking about at the time, but he could make some very educated guesses now.

 “I suppose you did predict it,” conceded Julian.

“And, I imagine that the Cardassian ensign is in the brig.”

“Naturally, but it doesn’t seem to really be a deterrent like it use to be.” Julian sighed. “Sometimes I feel like people use it as a get out of work free card. Start a fight a Quark’s, and tomorrow you don’t have muck about in the Jeffries tubes trying to integrate three systems of technology that stubbornly won’t integrate.”

“Many things changed with the departure of our dear Constable.” Garak inclined his head, and looked away for a moment. Julian knew he was hiding something in that movement, and he knew Garak well enough to know that it didn’t do any good guessing at what it meant. Of course, that didn’t really stop Julian from doing it. Despite Garak’s torture of the shapeshifter, and Odo’s ever-dogged attempts to prove the Cardassian was a spy, the two had really become friends of a sort. It confused Julian, but he never commented on it. After all, some would say that he and Garak had an unusual friendship as well.

“Indeed,” said Julian finally. It had been fifteen or so years, and there were things he missed, people he missed. He tried not to dwell on the disappearance of Sisko, the death of Jadzia, the exit of Odo, or the departure of the O’Briens. He especially tried not to dwell on the fact that Garak was no longer there. No, those were thoughts best left in the past.

Again, Garak smiled. “Well, seeing as the ensign isn’t here as I had thought, I shall make my way to the brig.”

Julian looked about the lab, first at the empty bed, and then at his monitor. “I’ll join you.”

“Worried?”

“Bored.”

“The infirmary doesn’t quite hold your attention the way it did in the war?”

“Garak,” said Jullian reprovingly.

“Sorry, Doctor, but you must admit that life hasn’t really been what it was.”

“Liar.”

Garak smiled. “Well, shall we?”

Julian nodded, strode into the next room, had a word with a Bajoran nurse, and walked with Garak out onto the promenade. The changes it had undergone were slow, and Julian hardly noticed them. But with Garak by his side, his memories were too powerful, too overwhelming. Suddenly, the promenade seemed like another world.  The black pillars had been modified as much was structurally allowable, and painted a yellow color. The lights had been changed to different colors, and banners of earthy reds, yellows, and oranges hung from the balconies.

Whether Garak noticed the changes or not was not clear in his demeanor, or the casual way he eyed every nook and cranny of the every corridor. This was just the way Garak always looked at everything; deceptively flippant, and always, _always_ analyzing and memorizing. In his letters to Julian, he had said it was because of his training. His father, Enabrain Tain, would beat him if he failed to remember the minutest details of a scene. Julian felt that was the sort of conditioning one could never be rid of.

Finally, Garak spoke. “Still too cold, and the lights are still far too bright.”

Julian laughed. To him, the promenade seemed like a much warmer place with all the colors replacing the dark of the Cardassian architecture, and the lights now spreading through the corridors where there had once only been shadows.

“I’m glad you find such joy in my discomfort,” Garak grumbled, expertly navigating the Promenade as if it had never changed.

Chuckling, Julian said, “don’t be silly, Garak. I just find joy in your company. It’s good to speak to you in real time, without words getting in the way.”

Garak stopped and eyed him, one ridge raised. Julian suddenly felt very naked, and there was a burning sensation in his cheeks as he blushed. He had forgotten how one look from Garak made him feel very young and very foolish. “The feeling is mutual,” he said, and continued to walk on. “I trust the brig is in the same place.”

“It is.”

 

* * *

 

The head of security was a Bajoran wearing a Federation uniform named Yuran. He had worked there for seven years, but Julian knew little more than that about him. Julian did note that he didn’t seem to trying hard to conceal his sneer upon seeing Garak.

“Aren’t you supposed to salute, or something?” Garak asked the man.

“That’s a _human_ tradition,” the Security Chief said pointedly. Julian wondered if he should have warned Garak about Yuran.

Garak pulled a face. “Here I thought joining the Federation was all about endeavoring to be human.”

Julian rolled his eyes. He hadn’t really thought about it at the time, but really, appointing Garak as Liason for Cardassia wasn’t a terribly good idea. Even during his exile, he had been vocal about his distaste for things he called “implicit Federation goals of homogenization” and the “hypocrisy of neoliberalism”. Sometimes Julian thought he sounded exactly like Eddington, something he liked to bring up if only to poke fun. The irony of it was simply too delicious. After all, Eddington hated Cardassians. In response though, Garak just smiled and said, “he had it exactly right.”

Julian hated that despite his genetically enhanced intelligence, Garak’s peculiar way of thinking could still simply run circles around him.

“Those uniforms really don’t do much for Cardassassian skin color,” Garak sniffed disapprovingly as he walked in.

Julian rolled his eyes. Yet again, the old, familiar, broken-record Garak struck again.

“Yet there you,” Garak continued, “in a Star Fleet uniform, and despite the atrocious color, you’re lucky not to be stripped of it.”

The former Glinn didn’t answer.

“Do you know who I am?”

“Yes,” the imprisoned Cardassian ground out.

“Good, because I haven’t a clue who you are.”

Julian didn’t know where Garak was going with this, but he kept out of it. He shifted from one foot to the other, failing to mask his confusion.

“But it doesn’t matter,” continued Garak. “You’re just the nobody they needed.”

“I was a Glinn.”

Garak took a PADD out of his pocket, and scanned it. “And now you’re an ensign. Ensign Patak Kran, if I’m not mistaken. You were being detained for failing to shoot Cardassian civilians under Dominion orders… which you only happened to survive because of good timing on part of the Cardassian uprisings…. and for thirteen years you worked on the reconstruction of Cardassia as a civilian. Of course you’re an ensign after thirteen years being out of the military. If you kept your mouth shut, and your head down you would have been a Lieutenant in short time. But now I’m here standing in front of you saying that you need to be nobody.”

The Cardassian didn’t answer.

“I will be back tomorrow. You will give me your answer then.”

With that, Garak turned on his heel and left the brig, smoothly bypassing the still sneering Bajoran with Julian not far behind him.

“Wait, Garak,” Julian said. “What just happened there?”

“Really, Doctor, you’ve known me for how long and you still don't know what I’m saying?”

“All I ever know about you is that I will never know anything.”

Garak smiled. “Shall we go see Lieutenant Harper?”

Julian just nodded.

* * *

 

Lieutenant Harper’s quarters were smaller than Julian’s by half, and painted the same yellow color as the promenade, with vases filled with plants from planets he couldn’t even begin to guess placed artistically on the surface areas.

In the middle of the cheery surroundings sat Lieutenant Harper, dark like a gathering storm cloud.

Garak smiled as he sat down across from the science officer, hooking his left ankle on his right knee. “I don’t grovel. It’s a cultural trait, I think. Maybe even racial,” he started. Harper glanced over at the Julian who was standing awkwardly at the threshold, and Garak followed his eyes. “Don’t mind the Doctor. He’s just here to make sure nothing too unpleasant happens.”

All the letters Garak wrote made more sense to Julian now. He had a hard time imagining it because he had never seen it, but now it was becoming all to clear. Garak smiled while he threatened. It threw Julian off balance, and he wasn’t even the subject of his scrutiny. He couldn’t imagine the affect it had on Harper.

Lieutenant Harper glared. “It doesn’t matter if you do or don’t, I’m pressing charges. He was in clear violation.”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because, Lieutenant Harper, you have yet to learn a vital and important fact.”

“And that is?”

 “It doesn’t matter what the truth is.”

Julian couldn’t help himself. He snorted.

Garak raised a ridge, but continued. “Relations are not well between Cardassia and the Federation.”

Harper didn’t answer.

“And the last thing we want is another war.”

“You think a war will start because Cardassian punched me?”

“No. Because you forgot a Cardassian is not Federation no matter what uniform he or she wears.”

“You’re losing me here.”

“Sir,” Garak added, examining his fingernails.

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re losing me, sir,” Garak supplied, not looking up.

Harper’s eyes trailed down Garak’s neck, and across the collar of his burgundy ensemble.

Garak caught his eyes, rested his hand on his thigh, and sighed. “Though I question the logic in it, it seems tradition has it that Ambassadors Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary in the Liaising of Cardassian/Federation Affairs are not afforded pips on the collar. Though, by that excruciatingly long title, I think we can both guess who outranks who here.”

“Yes, sir.”

 “My point is this, Lieutenant. Looks are deceiving. Push this, and you’ll lose Cardassia.”

“What if I don’t want it, sir?”

“You speak for everyone, do you?”

“I speak for enough.”

Garak laughed, for a moment, and his face morphed into the one Julian was more than a little bit frightened of. He was still smiling, but his eyes were cold and dead. It sent shivers down Julian’s spine. “You seem quite pale Lieutenant. I’m not sure you’ve quite recovered. I’m sure the Doctor would like to confine you to your quarters until he has a chance to reexamine you. Get some rest, and drink plenty of fluids.”

With the  smile still hovering on his face, Garak got up and strode towards the door. “Right, Doctor?”

Caught off guard, Julian could only stutter. “Yes, of course.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Julian was awoken by a medical emergency. In the few seconds it took for him to grab his medical kit, he knew was probably too late. Still, he hurriedly transported to the Brig in his fatigues, his collar half open, and hurried to see if there was a patient to save.

In the cell, the force field now down, was Ensign Patak Kran, his right hand bloodied, his throat horribly gashed, and his eyes staring wide open.

“What happened here?” Julian asked the security guard quickly, scanning the body with the tricoder fruitlessly.

“I don’t know, he just…” The security guard, a slightly-built Bolian, trailed off, unable to speak.

Julian looked up. “Were you the officer on duty?”

Dumbly, he nodded. Julian blinked. Strike that, she nodded. Sometimes it was difficult to tell with Bolians.

“Yes,” she said.

“Well, let’s see the security tapes then, shall we?” He stood up, and turned his back on the corpse.

She nodded and left the room. Julian tapped the com on his breast, “Bashir to Garak.”

“Yes, Doctor?” His voice was low, and heavy with sleep.

“I think you had better come down to the brig.”

* * *

 

Garak shook his head, and he bent down to look at what was formerly known as Glinn Kran. “I suppose there is some dignity in this.”

“Garak,” Julian said reprovingly. “This man has torn out his own throat.”

“Security footage confirms this?”

Julian nodded grimly.

“I should like to see it, please.”

The Bolian officer, which Julian had learned was named Balinar, showed them the footage just as Security Chief Yuran walked through the massive glass doors of the office.

Garak did not even look up. He just watched Patak Kran stare at his hands before placing one at his throat. Julian looked away as the Cardassian on the screen clawed his hand into his throat and struggled to pierce it his skin. There was a strangled shout, and loud thump, and the security camera trained on his limp body.

“Sir,” Balinar said, her body snapping to attention.

“What’s happened here?” Yuran demanded, his eyes hard.

Balinar shifted uneasily. “I don’t know, sir.”

Garak’s eyes narrowed. “Suicide it seems.”

Julian studied Garak’s features carefully for a moment. He wasn’t convinced of Garak’s sincerity.

 

* * *

 

 

The body of Patak Kran had been sent to infirmary for an autopsy, and Julian dragged his feet across the promenade as he made his way to join it. His mind, tired from lack of sleep, tried to work with the details he had just witnessed.

He kept hearing Garak’s voice telling the former Glinn that he expected an answer this morning. Was this Kran’s answer?

Julian couldn’t be sure. Cardassians always seemed to talk in subtitles, and Julian was damned if he could read them.

 

* * *

 

Commander Kira was changed, and nothing reminded her of it more than when she saw people from her past. Her short hair, a necessity in the war, was long and braided at the nape of her neck, and she was slightly heavier than she used to be. But really, those were just the superficial details that people brought up to be polite. The Kira Nerys they knew was not the same as the one during the Caradassian Occupation, and she certainly not the same as the on during the Dominion War. Sometimes when people looked at her, she could see in their eyes a hint of doubt, like they were being acquainted with a stranger with a familiar face.

She missed Odo constantly, and she found herself staring out at the wormhole from the large window of her office. It was as if she couldn’t be whole without him, that she would never be Kira Nerys as she once was. She would still be strong, of course, that would never change. But…

Now she was Commander Kira, the successor to far too short-lived Sisko dynasty, and she struggled with it. Command came naturally to her, but she didn’t like it. Though she never would have admitted it before, she preferred being second-in-line. It was far easier to question than it was too be questioned.

So it was, whenever she had a quiet moment, she would stare out at the wormhole and wonder if Sisko would return. If Odo would return. And she was doing just that as her door chimed.

“Come,” she said, turning expectantly.

“A believe a rather belated congratulations are in order on your promotion, Commander,” said her visitor, the ever present mocking smiling playing on his lips.

“You’re only five years late, Mr. Garak.”

“Well, better late than never, as the humans say.”

“Speaking of which, I was expecting to see you in my office the moment you arrived.”

“I felt,” Garak paused, “that the circumstances were a bit more pressing than idle chit-chat.”

Kira nodded and sat down, and grabbed Sisko’s baseball. “And isn’t convenient that those circumstances worked themselves out. Lieutenant Harper can’t press charges, and we can just pretend it never happened.”

“Indeed, I thought that as well, but there is something quite troubling about his death.”

She threw the ball in the air, and caught it. “Aside from the fact he’s dead?”

“Yes.” Garak looked as if he was going to continue, but then he stopped. “You know Commander, I really had expected you to be more mellowed, but you are still just as suspicious as ever.”

“Only with you Garak.”

“Why shouldn’t you be? I only risked my life to save yours.”

“You also tortured Odo.”

Garak raised his hands placatingly. “Perhaps a clean slate is required.”

Kira threw the ball in the air again. “Perhaps.”

“I would like to continue the investigation.”

“Security Chief Yuran will do it.” She set the ball down and eyed him carefully. “It’s a suicide, Garak.”

“Commander, the suicide is a cursory deflection, nor do I think his death is the answer to our problems. It is a reprieve at best.”

“Now who’s suspicious?”

“I was born suspicious.” Garak smiled.

Kira raised her eyebrows. He would have no argument there. “Well, who am I to stand in the way of the Cardassian Liason?”

“I do outrank you in this respect.”

“Yes…” Kira stood up and planted her arms on the desk, leaned over and looked at a Garak. “But I request a daily report, and that is not outside my jurisdiction.”

“If you wish.”

* * *

 

 

Julian knew very little about Cardassian physiology, but he was relatively certain that it would near impossible to pierce that scaly skin with bare hands, but who was he to question sheer willpower.

Experimentally, he put his own hand up to his throat, and shuddered at how tender and vulnerable it felt. He wondered if he would ever find the need to. Then he shuddered again.

The autopsy revealed little he didn’t know. The Cardassian had died of blood loss, obviously due to blunt for trauma on his neck. There were no other external bruises, and his body seemed perfectly healthy by any measure.

Sighing, he ran the neural scans, with his hopes rather low. The Cardassians, even since joining the Federation, had been reluctant in sharing their biological knowledge, thus making it somewhat difficult to treat Cardassians. In the end he could find nothing out of the ordinary. Well, aside from the fact he was suddenly dead when he was perfectly alive.

“I’ve just had the most fascinating chat with the Commander,” a voice came in, interrupting as he checked over all the autopsy data yet again. He looked up to Garak, with his hand on the chair.

“No one would ever believe you’re a spy, what with how you blunder in here all noisily.”

Garak smiled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“What did Commander Kira have to say?”

“That we should count this as a blessing.”

Julian raised his eyebrows.

“But I don't think that is everything.” Garak continued. “I think she finds this death troubling as well.”

Julian stopped and glanced at Garak, trying to discern if there was truth in his words. When Garak told Patak Kran to be a nobody, Julian half suspected it was one of the Cardassian ways to tell him to kill himself. But Garak’s face was just as unreadable as it had always been.

Taking a deep breath, Julian handed Garak the medical PADD. “Well, his death is ordinary enough. Blood loss… obviously.”

“In fact, this death is not ordinary at all.”

“Well, of course. He ripped out his own throat.”

Garak shook his head, and  walked over to the body of Patak Kran. “As Larnorius saw the sun come up and never go down again, he tore at his throat to water desperate lands, and from blood Caradassia arose.”

“What is that?”

“Ancient scripture of sorts. Most of what we thought was lost has been… resurfacing.”

“Who is Larnorius? That doesn’t sound like a Cardassian name.”

“It was Hebitian. It comes from the time of the great climate change, when Cardassia as you know it arose.”

“Do you think he was mimicking the god’s death?”

Garak didn’t answer.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

            Julian didn’t pretend to understand Cardassian society, let alone the tale of origin that sounded like it originated in the Klingon Empire. He wondered at what Garak had quoted, trying to figure out its meaning. The climate change that would spell Cardassia’s imperialism was not solved, so what was the meaning behind a myth about watering the lands?

            He pondered on it for a day before he was forced to ask Garak over lunch.

            “Isn’t it obvious?” queried Garak.

            “If this a joke about my enhancements…” Julian warned.

            “No, it’s just that I hadn’t realized it was difficult to understand.” Garak spread his hands. “Lanorius’ blood didn’t help the land. Instead it created modern Cardassia. It is a remnant myth from some of the very first dissenters. I think the point of the story was to say we were becoming a very bloody people who indulged in war.”

            “Then why…” Julian paused. “Do you think separatists are using the Oralian Way to drum up support?”

            Garak raised his ridges, and picked up his glass. “If that were the case, the real question we should be asking, which I believe we were asking, is why is Patak Kran dead?”

 

* * *

  
  
            Patak Kran had very few friends aboard Deep Space Nine, but Garak already knew that before had arrived. Cardassians who joined Star Fleet were rare, ones assigned to the area they once conquered was even more rare, and it made him sort of wonder at Federation naivety, or rather, Federation stupidity. Though, Garak supposed that probably didn’t matter very much. The man had kept to himself, and seemed to bury himself in his work. Garak kept his face impassive as he made his way down to what he thought may be Engineering, a concept that was somewhat beyond him. Cardassians didn’t have an Engineering the way Federation did. It was strategically impractical to centralize something that important.

            As Garak worked his way down the corridors to his final destination, he realized that despite the Bajoran, Federation, and Cardassian technologies working against one another, it was Cardassian design that still held the most power. Engineering, it turned out, was a small room where the large engines that kept the station in orbit were. It had the feeling of a cramped office of an underappreciated and overworked civil service officer.

            “Liason,” he was greeted immediately by a tall human who was handsome in all the ways Chief O’Brien definitely was not, and he smiled affably as he thrust out his hand. Garak shook it, but felt immediately put off by his friendliness. At least with O’Brien, you knew were you stood. Garak knew better than anybody that a smile was a very effective weapon. “The name’s Snyder. Probably already knew that though, didn’t you?”

“I had been reliably informed of that fact, yes.”

“Well, it’s nasty business with Ensign Kran, I can tell you that.”

            “Indeed. What can you tell me about him?”

            “Not much to say, really.” Chief Snyder shrugged. “Showed up to his shifts on time, every time. Sometimes, I’d catch him kicking at panels and cursing, but that’s something even the best of us have to do. It is really hard keeping this station in order.”

            “And what can you tell me about Lieutenant Harper?”

            Snyder furrowed his brows. “You don’t think he…”

            Raising his hands, Garak interrupted him. “The other matter, despite Ensign Kran’s unfortunate death, is still open.”

            Looking visible relieved, Snyder smiled. “Well, he’s pretty well liked. Excellent engineer. Sometimes I think he knows this place better than I do, but that wouldn’t surprise me. He started as an Ensign under O’Brien.”

            “And the nature of his argument with the ensign?”

            “Well, you see, that’s the thing. Kran is a Cardassian, so he gets these systems were trying to integrate better than anyone. Him and Harper were the best I had. Don’t know what I’m going to do without Kran. It’s been over two decades, and we still have more workload than we can manage, even with a full compliment.”

            “Your concern is touching,” Garak said, realizing his sincerity sounded sarcastic at best. “Do you have any other Cardassians under your charge?”

            Garak knew the answer, but he asked anyway.

            “No, but sometimes he would get a meal with Lieutenant Blet.”

            Garak narrowed his eyes. He had not come across this name in his research. “Blet?”

            “Chief Science Officer on the Defiant.”

            Garak nodded.

 

* * *

 

            “I don’t understand Garak, why are you asking me?” Julian asked, not looking away from the test tube he had been studying when Garak walked in.

            “Well, what with your previous infatuation with the last science officer, I thought it best to assume it a pattern.” Garak shrugged

            “Really?” He set down the test tube and looked at Garak. “You think that's where my romantic inclinations lie? Solely with science officers? Do you even remember Leeta?”

            “I remember her breasts.”

            “Garak,” Julian said reprovingly, trying not to smile. “That’s unfair. She’s the first wife of Fereginar.”

            “I’m not slighting her breasts, Doctor. They did very well for her.”

            Julian laughed, if only because he hoped Garak didn’t mean it. “Well, that aside, I don’t know Lieutenant Blet very well. It has been a long time since I’ve served on board the Defiant.”

            “I always thought it a strategically poor choice for the Federation to put their best doctor on the ship most likely to go into battle and then perish.”           

            “Oh, you were worried about me then.” Julian gave a mock grin. “I don’t know what to say.”

            “Naturally, I was. I’m a creature of habit, and I had grown very accustomed to our lunches and your bad taste in literature.”

            Julian just smiled, and shook his head. “I find that I can take very little solace in being just a habit.”

            Garak spread his hands. “I did say you were the best doctor they had.”

            “Which is suspiciously complementary of you.”

            “I’ve found that I’ve had to learn more human customs in order to get by.”

            “Yes, but flattery is not something you’re deficient at.”

            “I’m trying something more human… what was it called? Ah yes, sincerity.”

            “Really?” Julian said skeptically.

            “Yes. And I must admit, it is a very effective tool.”

            Julian could do nothing but laugh. “It is bizarre how you never seem to change.”

            “Indeed. Well, as stimulating as this conversation is, I regret that I have to search for some more valuable sources.

            “Alright, Garak. Perhaps, when you have time, you wouldn’t mind grabbing a drink at Quark’s?”

            “Why Doctor, I’d be delighted.”

            Julian watched Garak leave, wondering why he had even bothered to come and talk to him at all, but not really minding the distraction at all.

 

* * *

            “Blet?” asked Captin Kira, her voice cool with a familiar steel. “Why did you need to talk to him?”

            “He was in contact with Kran.”

            “I can’t help but notice, Liason,” she said, gesturing at the PADD with his report, “that you are treating a suicide like a murder case.”

            “I’m Cardassian. I’m naturally suspicious of the facts.”

            “Well, Blet comes back tomorrow, and I believe,” she consulted her computer at her desk, “he has shore leave. I wouldn’t expect him to stick around. He usually goes to Cardassia the second his feet touch the station.”

            “What are your opinions of him?”

            “None.”

            “Come now, Commander, you know I don’t believe that. He’s your Chief Science Officer on your patrolling flagship. You put him there, so you must have an opinion.”

            “I didn’t. I was told to put him there.”           

            “Then surely you have an opinion about that?”

            Kira gripped the table, strain clear in the way her fingers paled. “Paniles Blet worked under a war criminal.”

            Nodding knowingly, Garak said, “Ah, and as a Bajoran, you think that makes him a war criminal as well.”

            “As a citizen of the Federation, it makes him a war criminal,” Kira countered.

            “Not necessarily. The law works in mysterious ways.”

            The silence that lay between them was pregnant with words they had heard a thousand times before. Finally, Kira leaned back in her chair and spoke. “No. I don’t talk to him. He doesn’t talk to me. And as far as I’m concerned, that is the best working relationship we can have.”

            “Indeed. Well, I won’t waste anymore of your time, Captain.”

            “What are you going to do about Blet?”

            Garak just smiled. “We’ll see.”

 

                       

 


	4. Chapter 4

It used to be that Julian could never depend on a routine at Deep Space Nine. What with the wormhole, and then the war, he lived with a certain level of excitement, and that was putting it blandly. When things started becoming habit, he almost welcomed it as respite. Then he started to revile it. Now, nearly a decade later, he just sort of grudgingly accepted it and tried to bring about his own brand of exhilaration with molecular genetics.

It was less convincing than it sounded.

So it was that when he walked into the morgue to find Lieutenant Blet staring at Patak Kran’s capsule, he felt more than little surprised.

“Can I help you, Lieutenant?” Julian asked.

 “We were to have lunch yesterday,” responded Blet blandly, “but the _Defiant_ was delayed a day in the Gamma quadrant. I suppose it’s too late, now.”

If Blet had been human, Bajoran, or maybe even Trill, Julian would have put a consoling hand on his shoulder, but he knew better. He also knew that the strange serious statement of facts concealed his actual feelings on the matter. Julian was far more used to Cardassians than he was willing to admit.

“Did you know Lieutenant Kran well?” he asked, setting his PADD down.

Lieutenant Blet turned around, and leveled a steady gaze at Julian. “No,” he said coolly, and then walked out of the sickbay.

* * *

 

The riots on the Cardassia started just as the sun rose into the sky. Or at least, that’s what the reports where, though there was no word about which time zone, or which city, but Garak guessed it wasn’t in Central City like the rest of the quadrant surmised, but in the Kendrin Valley.

He was not surprised at all to be roused from bed by the urgent newswire accompanied by a dark-faced Admiral Jellico.

“Admiral.” Garak smiled expansively.

“How did this happen, Liaison?” Quick to the point was Admiral Jellico to a T. Garak was not at all startled.

“Seeing as I’m not on Cardassia, I haven’t the faintest idea, but I assume you wish to know how Cardassia foundout about Patak Kran’s death? Well, that is another matter altogether. What’s important, now, is that we hide Cardassia’s riots from the Federation civilians. No need for them to get up in arms.”

“We are not Cardassia. That’s not who we do things, Liaison.”

“Really? How silly of me to forget that isn’t what the Federation does. I guess my memory can be somewhat faulty. Tell me, how many know that Ambassador Vreenak was pawn to Sisko’s plan to get the Romulans to enter the Dominion War on the side of the Federation? I suppose you’re right. It was just a very fortuitous death with a fortuitous bit of damning evidence.”

Admiral Jellico’s eyes went wide, and white. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing. Obviously,” Garak took special care to draw out the word, “you don’t do that, or least Section13 makes sure no one knows you do. But Patak Kran’s death was not something I could easily cover up. By the time I had found him, five officers already knew of his death, and the rest of the station knew of his imprisonment. His disappearance would have been far more suspicious. The real question is, who is using Kran’s death to their advantage? And if they had meant this happen.”

"Liason," Jellico growled. "Find that out, and find it out quickly." Then his face disappeared from the screen. 

 

* * *

 

Lieutenant Harper was going stir crazy. He was tired of reading, and practicing his viola, and longed to be back out in the Jeffries tubes of the station. His room had never felt so small and claustrophobic before he was imprisoned there.

His comm system had been cut yesterday, and when he complained, the engineer had just said it was fine. He naturally blamed the Cardassian Liaison. You couldn’t trust a Cardie. He then spent the rest of his day working away at his escape panel that had been locked. It was all very confusing for him. He hadn’t been the one who punched someone in the face. Why was he being treated like a criminal?

Angrily, he snatched up his formerly broken tricorder, which he spent the night fixing seeing as his working one was taken away when he was confined to quarters, and attempted to bypass the security protocols. It wasn’t easy. He was the nuts and bolts kind of engineer, not a computer programming genius.

"Wait, Lieutenant Harper." The voice had com from a comm, but it wasn't in his room. Curiously, Harper pressed his ear against the panel. "You can escape, but you need to wait just a little while longer."

"Who are you?" he asked, but the voice never responded.

 

* * *

 

 

Jake hadn’t taken more than one step on the space station before he was approached by a Cardassian.

“Can I help you?”

“I believe you can, Mr. Sisko. Follow me, if you please.” Jake knew the Cardassian, or least he thought he did. It had been too many years for him to feel like he could reliably say it was Elim Garak, the Cardassian exile who owned the tailor shop on the promenade.

Caught between dumbfounded and not at all surprised, Jake followed the Cardassian’s perfectly cut silhouette down the promenade and into Quark’s noisy bar.

Jake hadn’t really wanted to come back to Deep Space Nine. It had too many memories. Even when he and Nog would find themselves in the same time and place, he would steer Nog away from topics about the station. He was more interested in his friends rise to lieutenant, which he almost lost after making a near fatal error on one of the proficiency tests. Nog swore he didn’t know how he passed, but he thought maybe his life flashed before his eyes giving him that one little bit of data of how to bypass a power surge in one very specific instance. Whatever it was, it worked.

The Cardassian tailor hadn’t said a word past his invite as he led Jake away, and Jake had long ago learned that the key to good journalism was silence. Let them say what they want. Actions speak louder than words. He had learned these all during the occupation. They were confirmed in school.

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Sisko," said the Cardassian finally, a smile on his face. He was leaning back in his chair, with his hands resting on his stomach.

Jake took out his recorder, placed it on the table, and leaned back in his chair.

With deft fingers, the Cardassian leaned forward and swiped across the screen, rendering it off. “I went to a lot of trouble to get you here, but not to give you anything on the record. Not right now, anyway. You should know better than that.”

“No one brought me here," Jake countered.

“Oh. Then what happy circumstance that you’re here just as I need you.”

Jake narrowed his eyes. “My father never trusted you.”

“There’s a difference between words and action, Jake. Your father may never have truly trusted me, not in his heart or his mind, but in all the ways it mattered, he gave me the power to do what he could not, trusting that I would do it because it was in my best interests. That’s trust enough.”

“So what do you want?”

“What have you heard?”

A Trill waitress approached, and Garak ordered a glass of _ka’nar_. Jake shook his head, and she went away.

“Heard about what?”

“Coy doesn’t suit you, Mr. Sisko. Bluntness is in your bloodline. Embrace it.”

Jake raised his eyebrows. “Rumbles of Cardassian rebellion.”

“Rebellion makes it sound as if the Federation rules Cardassia.”

“Poor choice of words, then.”

“I should hope not. After all, your job is words.”

Jake smirked as he felt Garak’s condescension because they both knew the truth. “Fine then, riots. Something about a Cardassian being murdered on the station by the Federation after an altercation.”

“How surprising you would come up with all of that when none of it is being reported.”

Jake raised his eyebrows. “You’re insinuating you leaked that information to get me to come here?”

“Ah, so talented, but still so young. I wasn’t looking for you specifically, but I am pleasantly surprised. But no. It’s a matter of controlling your lies. And you repeated two of them back at me, making it very easy for me to know how you got them.”

Jake frowned. “What do you want, Garak?”

“An ally, and I don’t think you’ll have to search too deeply within yourself to find the will to be. This station was your home. These people are your friends, friends of your friends, and it is a powder keg waiting go up in flame.”

  
“I’ve done this song and dance before, Garak. I only report the truth.”

“Let me try to explain to you how journalism really works, then shall I? There is the truth that is, and then there is the truth that becomes. Mix those together, you have a very powerful recipe for controlling outcomes. And right now, I’d rather not see my home planet in the ruin of a civil war. Nor would I like to see that bleed into Bajor and this station because that means the Federation will intervene. More will die.”

“Is that truth that is, or the truth that becomes?”

“It all rather depends on you, really. I can give you a story that will be true in the end, or you can watch your home dissolve into war just as it did when you were younger.”

Jake stood up just as the waitress returned “This was a very interesting conversation, Liaison.”

Garak smiled. “It was. We’ll keep in touch.”

Jake didn’t answer.

 

* * *

 

Julian barely had time to call out Jake’s name in surprise as he shouldered his way out of the bar. He was certain the younger man hadn’t heard him, an by the time he had turned around, he wasn’t even sure if had been him.

He found Garak on the second level already enjoying a glass of _ka’nar_.

“I think I just saw Jake Sisko.”

“I’m sure you did, Doctor.”

“You don’t think he’s here because of…”

“It’s exactly why he’s here.”

Julian frowned.

“What’s wrong?” asked Garak.

“It doesn’t matter,” responded Julian, his mind working away at why Jake Sisko would be there, and more importantly if it would be a problem.

Garak raised his ridges, giving a very clear indication that he could guess what was on Julian’s mind, but he didn’t press it.

"So how was your day, Doctor?" asked Garak.

Julian snorted at the deflection. "Good. I saw Blet."

"Fascinating. Though, if I wanted to talk official business, I would drop in during one of your shifts."

"I'm sorry?"

"We are having drinks, my dear Julian. At a bar. I dare say that is the last place anyone works."

Julian grinned. "I suppose so. I always thought you worked even when you weren't working."

"Oh?"

"Even at our lunches, it felt like you were getting information."

"Of course I was."

"So why is tonight any different?"

Garak laughed. "It's not. I get information for many different reasons. I'm fairly sure that's what you humans do as well when on a... what do you call them? A date?"

Julian's eyes widened, and he could feel red creeping into his cheeks. "A, er..."

"I'm sorry, have I miscomprehended this?"

Julian held up a hand. "I don't really know. I haven't really figured that out yet."

"Well, ten years is a very short time to make up one's mind about these matters, most assuredly."

"Garak, are you making fun of me?"

Garak raised his ridges. "I suppose I am. I think I'll order some dessert now. I hear Quark got a shipment of Delavian chocolates in."

Julian blushed again, and stole a glance at Garak while he flagged down a waiter. There was something in Garak's profile that made his heart skip an extra beat, a feeling he hadn't had since... well, since Dax. He had never been against being in relationships with other species, but they had always had a human-like physique, more or less. But now, he found himself entranced by the ridges that sinuously stretched up his neck, and trailed around his ears.

Yes. Julian definitely had ulterior motives. He just wished he had told himself that before getting drinks with Garak so he could have mentally prepared himself.

"Are you all right, Doctor?"

Julian startled. "Yes. Sorry. Did I hear you order root beer as well? That's not going to go well with those chocolates at all."

"Never run from a experience. You may never know what you may be missing. Perhaps Delavian Chocolates and root beer will be my next favorite thing."

And if that was an allusion to something else, Julian had trouble telling.


End file.
